Unraveling
by YungKhaleesi
Summary: A spot of glorious CS headcanon. How did that scarf wind up in Emma's drawer? What does the captain think when he spies said scarf? What transpires in the attempt to reclaim said scarf? The saviour's internal musings on an infuriating(ly handsome) pirate. Captain Swan feelings.
1. Chapter 1

I just have so many Captain Swan feelings. This is a little slice of headcanon right after Emma and Snow return from The Enchanted Forest. I own nothing, but if anyone wants to loan me Colin O'liferuiner, I'd be forever in your debt.

* * *

They made it. She was home, with Henry and her parents. _Parents_, such a strange thought for someone who'd been alone for so long. At that moment, Emma Swan felt an overwhelming sense of rightness and belonging. A powerful mix of emotions, enough to drown out a nagging little feeling involving a certain swashbuckling nuisance with a flair for innuendo and smirking.

After the hugging and well-wishing subsided, Emma found herself at the Storybrooke General Hospital.

A nurse was tending to the various cuts and scrapes she had earned on her quest to return home. A small cut on her knee from falling on the pebbled floor of Lake Nostros, scrapes on her shoulders from crashing into a tree, a nick on her arm, all gained outrunning one of the many dangers she'd faced alongside her mother, the freshly-woken princess and the fierce warrior. And him.

_Killian._

**Hook.**

The nurse began to unfasten the no-doubt unsanitary, rum-soaked scrap of fabric wrapped around the palm of her hand.

She hadn't really given it a thought, honestly. Not of his hook catching her wrist, drawing her near to him, his hand cradling her wounded one, not his lips so close to her skin as he tightened the knot, not his eyes so, so very blue looking at her, beseeching her to trust him.

_Nope_, she thought, _no thought at all_. Those glimpses of their time together at the top of the beanstalk would remain deeply buried. That is, until the nurse made a fleeting remark.

"I'll just throw this away and get you a fresh dressing, Emma."

"Don't!" she blurted out, eyes wide and frantic. "I'd like to… keep it…as a memento of my time away." She added, responding to the nurse's quizzical look.

"Of course, dear. You've been through a lot. I'll put it with your things."

"Thank you." Emma breathed, relieved.

And with her momentary panic attack over, she buried thoughts of him down deep. Or at least she tried.

The next day, eager to return to a degree of normalcy (which she conceded was a little bit difficult when your mother is Snow White and your father is Prince Charming) she entered the Sheriff's office. She took off her leather jacket, draping it over the back of her chair, and sat down to catch up on events that had transpired in her absence.

Her cellphone rang, vibrating somewhere within her bag, disturbing the quiet.

In her haste to find her phone, she happened upon a small plastic bag containing the scarf. The nurse must have slipped it in there as promised. It reminded of her an evidence bag. Evidence of their time together; the only keepsake of that infuriating, insufferable man she couldn't seem to take a chance on.

Forgetting the buzzing of her phone, abandoned still in the depths of her purse, she carefully turned the bag over in her hands. She opened it slowly, almost reverently and carefully pulled out the dark material. Setting the bag aside on her desk, she draped the material over her hands. She hunched over the fabric, resting on her elbows on her knees, examining it closely as if it held the answer to the strange, unfamiliar feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She would soon admit, in the quiet emptiness of the Sheriff's station, that Captain Killian Jones had got under her skin. She pictured the look on his face as she left him in Anton's treasure rooms. The pirate had asked her to trust him, and she had…_almost_. But not enough. Part of her regretted her decision to leave him up there, but she needed to get back to Henry.

Her son was her priority.

_Her son was her priority._

This would be a phrase she'd repeat to herself often, when she remembered ocean-blue eyes, framed with dark lashes. A mantra for time's when she'd recall the feeling of his body pressed against hers when she'd saved him from the trip wire. Despite his time on land, she noted at the time, he always smelled of the sea.

"It's about bloody time." He had murmured, in his deep, gravelly candor.

She decided, too late mind you, that it _was _about time. Maybe. Time to trust, time to lean on her loved ones. Her parents. Maybe.

Someday.

The material of the scarf still weighed on her hands. Her thoughts were thoroughly occupied with him. While the scarf remained in her grasp she wouldn't think of anything else. She rehashed her time with him over and over, and failed to hear the door open.

"Morning Emma, what have you got there?" David enquired, breaking her out of her reverie as he hung his coat.

"Oh, it's nothing." She replied, quickly opening her desk drawer and placing the scarf inside.

How was Emma Swan to know that at that very moment, as the desk drawer slammed shut, a gilded pirate ship was making its way to port. A gilded pirate ship, a marvel, sailed by none other than Killian Jones.

* * *

I was thinking about maybe extending this...perhaps our beloved Captain and a certain Swan have an encounter where he requests his scarf back? Banter and sexual tension ensue, naturally. Let me know your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for your kind reviews, they certainly spurned me on to write this! This chapter acts as a brief stop on our journey to banter and sexual tension! Killian muses on finding the scarf as he sails to New York. I own nothing, except my feelings.

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Chapter 2:

He considered the worn material briefly, as he reclaimed his hook from Swan's desk drawer.

There was no mistake about it, it was his scarf. He wondered why she'd kept it, but was reveling in that fact that she had. _Knew she had a soft spot for me, curious lass_, he thought.

A small victory, surely no match for besting Rumpelstiltskin, but it would have to do until he reached the island of Manhattan.

He thought on her more as he sailed the Jolly Roger, a pleasant assortment of memories to pass the time.

In those hours climbing the beanstalk and searching for the compass, he had been Killian Jones, not Captain Hook. A subtle but significant difference. He wondered if she'd noticed at all during their time together. Had she seen through his bravado and saucy remarks to see the man that existed behind his mission for revenge? With her guarded nature, he may never know.

He had hoped she would grow to trust him, and he had seen rare glimmers of trust in her eyes. But it was not enough. He'd seen it clearly, she'd been hurt too terribly before by putting all her trust in another. Not a chance she'd take again, he'd wager. The risk that he might turn on her was just too high. Though he had no intention of doing so, not until she left him up there.

She couldn't bank on his honour to get her back to her young lad, just as he couldn't remain loyal to her once she'd abandoned him atop the beanstalk. He had to return to Cora, for the sake avenging Milah's death. He had to chose the side that would best aid his mission, regardless of any attraction to a gutsy, daring blonde with sad eyes. Still, Killian Jones was not an aimlessly cruel man, he had hoped she would find her way home to her lad again. But, he was a man of his word, and he would have his vengeance.

He'd meant her no true harm during their duel on the lake. His mission was clear: skin the crocodile, by any and all means. _Nothing personal, _he thought_._

_Personal._

His scarf was certainly personal. A favourite accessory of his, next to his hook, of course, and the company of a pretty lady or two on his arm. The way he'd tended to her wounds was _certainly_ personal, intimate even. The pirate had intended and perpetuated this level of intimacy, not at the sake of her wellbeing, of course. But as she was a woman who kept herself so guarded, he longed to get closer to her. Though he liked a challenge, Killian Jones was not a man who enjoyed large obstacles, and what a climb the towering walls she'd put around herself were. Higher than any beanstalk. Beanstalks he could handle, but Emma Swan was indeed a mystery to him. A mystery and an adventure.

He'd seen her soften, when he'd seen her look to her mother, when she spoke of her son, when he'd ghosted over details of Milah's passing. And again, when she clutched at him as he'd almost set off the giant's rather daunting security system. She was caught off guard when she'd realized how close their bodies were. He recalled the slight flush in her cheeks. A sight he'd dearly like to see again.

He smiled at the memory, for he knew there'd be time to make more memories once he'd vanquished the crocodile and completed his mission. Emma Swan would have to wait.

The island of Manhattan came into view, and all other thoughts were cast aside leaving only two words crossing the pirate's mind as he steered his ship true.

_Tick. Tock._

_Tick. Tock._

* * *

Next time we'll reunite Captain Swan and serve banter and sexual tension by the barrel! Maybe with some rum. Expect a bounty of pet names, some eye rolling and perhaps a blush or two?


	3. Chapter 3

I am a slave to your kind words…which might be why this chapter is so very long! Now let's mentally glaze over all the Cora nastiness and Neal and all this exceedingly dire business and get straight to an encounter of the sexy pirate kind. Hope you enjoy the final act, lovelies.

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Chapter 3.

Emma Swan had been spending a large amount of time in the Sheriff's office. Devoted to her work, justice and ensuring peace within Storybrooke (no matter how short lived that peace may be…) was important. She was the savior, after all.

Honor and well meaning intentions aside, Emma was for all intents and purposes hiding out. She was still somewhat on edge with Neal in town, and it seemed Henry certainly had enough commendable stubbornness to match his mother's.

She tapped her pen against the desk, denoting the seconds as they passed. Her forehead was rested on her other hand. It was getting late, she should head home. However, her concept of home was once again rearranged and jumbled inside her head. Feeling at home with her newly restored family had been fleeting, in wake of Henry finding his father.

She thought of Henry, she thought of chasing Neal through the streets of New York and sailing home on a ship that didn't belong to her. To any of them.

Something about being on the Jolly Roger made her feel especially close to _him_. It was his home, after all. She felt like an intruder, a thief, a…pirate?

Taking what she needed, without thought; that's what a pirate would do. _He'd have done the same_, she thought, _maybe_.

A voice all too familiar to Emma Swan's ears rang out from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts.

"You look like you could use a drink, love." Captain Killian Jones observed, taking a swig out of a bottle, which she could only assume to be filled with rum.

"What are y—" she began.

"You and I need to have words, Princess."

He was leaning against the wall, examining his hook as it caught the light.

A million questions hurtled through her mind. How had he…where had he…how did he…**what**? She asked none of them, instead settling for an attempt at steely indifference.

"You and I don't_ need_ to have anything, Hook. And I am _not_ a princess."

He smirked at her, self-assured and infuriating as always. "The family tree says differently, love. Oh, and pray tell, how is your bonny lad enjoying time with his dear old dad?"

She bristled. _Oh, that was low_, she thought. But what was she to expect from the pirate she'd left chained to a radiator a world away?

A world he didn't yet know.

She collected herself, aligning her delicate features in a studied, neutral expression.

"You didn't come here to talk about Neal, Hook." She replied, her voice stern and cool.

"Aye, right you are, lass." He replied, leaving his post and crossing the room to close the space between them. "Perhaps I wanted you to account for, once again, tying me up. What it is now, love? The fourth time? If you're going to make such a habit of this you might as well stick around for the fun part. Come now, you must have some handcuffs around here somewhere…" By this point he'd discarded his drink and was rifling through papers when he happened upon the metal restraints. He swirled them around on his hook.

"Care for another round, Swan?" He smiled lasciviously.

She rolled her eyes and huffed indignantly in response, grabbing the cuffs from him and quickly averting her gaze in an attempt to hide the heat that was creeping up her neck and undoubtedly onto her face.

"What do you want, hook?" she sighed, still turned from him.

He placed his hand and his hook on the edge of the desk and leaned in close, his breath almost tickling her cheek as she avoided turning and facing him. He spoke slowly, low and full of sinful intent.

"You've got something that belongs to me, darling."

She turned her head sharply to face him. She'd be waiting to get an earful about his beloved boat.

"Your boat is at the docks, safe and sound."

"She's a **ship**, love, and a bloody marvelous one too. You'd do well to remember that. But no…" he paused and smiled to himself, "it's not the ship I'm talking about."

She leaned closer, squaring up to him and looked into his eyes. _There she is_, he thought, _there's the Swan I know._

She too, spoke low, trying to match his tone. "Then what is it?"

He rattled the side of his hook down over each drawer handle.

"You see, I was looking for my hook, when I came upon this little token." He said, opening the drawer and scooping the scarf out.

Emma could only stare at him, eyes wide in surprise.

He turned the material over and over in hook and hand, as if committing it to memory.

"My hook, my scarf, then my ship. Why, darling, I think you're trying to collect me." He winked at her.

"I'm not...doing anything…I couldn't leave you in the hospital with a weapon, I needed the ship to get home…" She stammered.

"And what of this? Tell me, princess, why is this still in your possession?" He dangled the material in front of her.

"I..I don't know." She admitted, furrowing her brow.

"Oh, I think you do love." He said softly.

He began to circle her desk. "You know Swan, a scarf has many uses. A bandage, a blindfold…" He stopped behind her and bent down to whisper in her ear. "…I suppose in special cases one might even use it as a binding to restrain someone."

Her breathing hitched.

His lips were so close to her.

Too close.

Not close enough.

At that moment, as listened to his voice, felt him so near to her and as curiously enticing mixture of the sea, spiced rum and something she couldn't place filled the air, she honestly didn't know which of the two it was.

She slid her chair back and stood abruptly.

"You need to go. I need to get home." She turned away from, collecting her belongings as quickly as she could.

"As you wish, love. I'll just be getting what I came for." He leant across her to retrieve the scarf, as she continued to fuss with papers. He stopped, his head bowed, eyes boring into her.

"Goodnight, Emma." He said, just loud enough for her to hear.

Too close.

Not close enough.

She turned around to say something, she wasn't even sure what, but he'd already left.

* * *

The next morning, she was filing yet more paperwork. She opened the bottom desk drawer and was _very_ caught off guard to see a half empty bottle of rum and the scarf. Beneath the material she found small hand-written note.

_I leave this in your care, darling. _

_Its intended use is entirely up to you._

_Choose wisely._

_Yours, _

_Killian_

And for more reasons that Emma couldn't... or wouldn't… yet name, she kept the rum, the scarf and even the note in her bottom desk drawer.

If there was one thing Emma Swan could say about the pirate, it was that he never failed to surprise her.

* * *

Now, who among you would want to receive a whatisforallintentsandpurpos es a bloody brilliant care package from Killian Jones? What a thoughtful man. How sweet. Of course, no one likes to drink alone ;)

And fear not! Captain Swan have literally been keeping me up at night with a thousand different story ideas that simply will not leave me alone.


	4. Chapter 4

You twisted my arm! Taking some of your marvelous suggestions on board, I give to you an extra long final chapter filled with slightlydrunkandthereforeuni nhibited!CS. This is slightly AU like last time, focussing primarily on Captain Swan, which of course is just how we like it! I own nothing but many hours of productivity, lost to the roguish charms of Killian Jones.

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Chapter 4:

It had been a week to end all weeks. The town of Storybrooke was peaceful enough, but Emma Swan's personal affairs were taking their toll.

Mary Margaret and David…_mom...dad…_ (She still couldn't get her head around that) had been going through something, she wasn't quite sure what.

Henry had yet to properly forgive her, instead spending all of his free time showing Neal around Storybrooke. She'd avoided many an awkward "family" outing by working, but found when she _was_ free to spend time with her son, she wasn't invited. Hot chocolates at Granny's, visits to the stables. Nope, Emma Swan was under social house arrest at the hands of her son.

Sensing the struggle, Neal had pulled her aside before he and Henry left to go to the diner.

"Hey, look, I know this has been weird and difficult… I've talked to him about it. Why don't you come with us to grab some food?"

She couldn't face being rejected by Henry, especially seeing the adoration in his eyes when he looked at Neal.

"You can't just expect me to play happy families, Neal. It's fine, you go on ahead. I was actually just heading out, I've got tons of paperwork to do anyway." She bluffed. "Have fun, and don't cave when he asks for ice cream. Kid seems to be in a constant sugar coma since you've been here. Lay off the treats." She continued, trying to force a smile.

"Will do. Take care, Emma." He replied, closing the door behind him.

Once again she found herself at the Sheriff's station…for no reason at all. There was no paperwork, she'd reorganized all the files for the billionth time. She sat tapping her pen, and her mind wandered.

She opened the desk draw, which still held Hook's scarf, a fair amount of rum and the note he'd left her.

She ran her hands over the scarf, weaving the material through her fingers.

She heard his voice in the back of her mind, sultry and taunting.

_Tick-tock, princess._

She definitely needed that drink.

She wound the scarf around her wrist, keeping it hidden under her sleeve, grabbing the bottle of rum, she left the office fueled by impulse.

Emma followed her feet until she found herself at the docks, stopping in front of where she knew the Jolly Roger to be, still shielded by Cora's spell.

She unfastened the bottle top, top a deep breath and an even deeper swig of the amber liquid, shivering slightly as it burned her throat.

_Much better._

She tentatively placed a foot on the invisible beams leading to the deck, and made her way aboard the ship, drinking the rum as she went.

Killian Jones was below deck in the Captain's quarters. He was slumped in his chair, feet propped up on a gilded desk (stolen) that was covered in maps (also stolen) taking the odd gulp of rum (borrowed, but never returned).

He heard footsteps from above. Cora? No, she'd just appear in front of him in another puff of purple smoke. The Crocodile? No, no tap of a cane to accompany the footsteps, which the Captain had noted were slightly sloppy and unsure. Whoever it was, they were not a stealthy intruder, to be certain.

The footsteps stopped abruptly, as if the person had vanished.

Hook sighed, stood and whipped his coat on lightning fast to shield himself from the cold air, he took a step, paused and grabbed the rum. He secured it in his pocket and climbed the stairs quickly with as light a footing as he could muster.

Emma had wandered the length of the vessel, no one appeared to be home. She sat down on a crate and tilted her chin up to see the stars.

She hadn't heard him come on deck, his hand ready to draw his sword at the first sign of trouble. He'd been glad of this, it gave him an opportunity to really, _really_ look at her. Moonlight was reflecting off the blonde waves cascading down her back. She looked calm, serene almost, as she looked upward to marvel at the night sky. She let out a deep breath and he saw here fiddling with something, hidden by darkness. She brought a bottle to her lips and drank delicately. _His rum._

Killian Jones did not smirk. Killian Jones gave an almighty grin.

He made his presence known as he strode over to her, shocking her so with his sudden appearance that she sat bolt upright, mouth slightly agape. He noted her face was flushed, perhaps from the alcohol, perhaps from something more.

"Fancied that drink after all, darling?"

She looked like a frightened animal_. Poor love_, he thought, _what's happened to you?_

"I just… I just needed to get away." She looked down at the wooden floor of the deck, embarrassed at her surprising lack of brain to mouth filter. _Way to go, Swan_, she mentally berated herself. "I don't know what I was thinking…"

She took a step forward to leave and get home as fast as she could. However, she'd drank a little more rum than she thought. She stumbled slightly, he caught her smoothly. His hooked arm went around her waist, his good hand held hers, in a manner most elegant for a fearsome pirate.

"Steady on, princess." He laughed, setting her straight and absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the inside of her wrist. He grazed the edge of the scarf, _his_ scarf, still wrapped around her wrist. She hadn't noticed, instead choosing to focus on the tenderness of the simple touch.

Killian, on the other hand, _had_ noticed. He recognized the texture of the material immediately. He pulled her sleeve up using his hook to confirm his suspicions.

"And what do we have here, Swan? An excellent turn of events. Typically it is the knight that wears his lady's favours, but I must say I rather like this trade of places."

Emma Swan's face was a picture. Shock. Embarrassment. Stunned, with a slight haze of lust left from the ghost of his fingers on her wrist.

He bowed low and brought her wrist up to his mouth, once again biting the knot, just as he had atop the beanstalk, in an effort to unravel the fabric.

His lips.

Too close.

**Not close enough.**

And this time, with the veil (or shall we say clarity?) of rum, she had made up her mind which of the two it was.

He was making some flirtatious remark or another, but she'd momentarily tuned him out. Emboldened by pirate's rum, she had made her decision.

"Hook… close your eyes."

"I regrettably will do no such thing, love. I turn my back, I blink for merely a second and you've got my tied up to some other contraption. I shan't be bested by you again." He said curtly, folding his arms.

"Just do it, Hook. Will you trust me?" She pleaded.

_Ahh_, he noted, _the magic words._ Killian Jones knew he had to give trust to gain it in return, and he so badly wanted Swan to trust him.

"As you wish, princess." He complied with her request.

She would have asked him to keep them closed, but she had a better idea. Instead, she took the scarf from his hand and began to circle him. She covered his eyes with the material.

This is _not_ what he was expecting, he thought, choosing to keep silent so as not to spook her.

"No peeking..." She whispered lowly in his ear. At that moment the pirate would have done anything she requested, so long as her demands were made in that delicious, husky voice.

Emma completed her circle around him.

He heard her take a sharp intake of breath.

That breath was pure resolve. She let her hands tentatively touch his cheek and the nape of his neck...

And then her mouth was on his.

She put so much into that kiss. All of the emotions that had been building within her came to the surface in a hungry assault of his mouth. It was an apology, a declaration, a promise and ultimately, her surrender; to him and to her feelings.

If Killian Jones could form coherent thought, there's no doubt the words dancing around his head would be _it's about bloody time. _But all the pirate could focus was the inexplicable bliss that accompanied the taste of her lips, and hearing the soft sounds that fell from them, as they deepened their kiss.

She twined his hair around her fingers, and he responded in kind, holding her close to him with his arm around her waist, hook flattened to her side. His good hand rested softly on her cheek, the tips of his fingers caressing her hair.

Needing him closer still she rolled her hips towards him, and lightly nipped and his lower lip. He moaned, dark and deep, in response.

Oh, that was a sound she'd like to hear again. The sound had ignited something within her, and she began to kiss a trail down the pirate's jaw to settle on a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

"Emma…" he murmured, breathy and tinged with warning. If she carried on with her assault, his resolve would be worn away entirely.

Killian hooked the blindfold, discarding it across the deck.

"Emma…" he repeated, this time more insistently. He gently placed the curve of his hook under her chin, and guided her gaze to meet his.

Unable to resist, his mouth descended on hers in another tender kiss.

He pulled back slightly "Let's get you home, love."

She panicked. Was he denying her? Had she made a terrible, foolish mistake?

"I'm… I'm sorry, I—"

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Emma. I'm very much happy to continue on this little adventure, perhaps with less rum involved." He threw her a smirk.

She laughed lightly, "Well aren't you just a perfect gentleman?"

"Give it time, princess. You come to me with a clear head and I'll be happy to do all manner of ungentlemanly things with you." He said assuredly. "Come now, lass, I'll walk you home."

He offered her the crook of his arm, which she surprisingly took. They strolled the empty streets of Storybrooke in astounding normalcy. She wouldn't admit it, but she quite liked it.

He hummed sea shanties and she listened intently, until they reached the front door.

He took her hand, and held it to his chest. He planted a small kiss on her forehead and whispered, "Goodnight, love."

With her eyes still closed, she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with that intoxicating smell of rum, leather and sea salt. She opened her eyes to find him walking away.

"Goodnight…Killian." She said softly.

The last thought that crossed Emma's mind before she drifted off to sleep was not of work, struggle or impending dangers she may face, but of a pirate's smile and his kiss. That same image would be her first waking thought, and command all her spare ones for the days ahead.

* * *

And that's all she wrote! Thank you so, so much for your overwhelming response to this little story (originally it was only meant to be a one shot and look where we 5000 words later!) I hope you enjoy my next Captain Swan offering, which is sure to keep you warm during the dreaded hiatus.

Again, thank you so much, each review, favourite, follow and read filled my heart and fed my muse. Hit me up on tumblr or in a PM if you've got any prompt ideas or you just fancy a chat! I'd love to hear from you all!


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